Dead Heart
by WolfsLegend
Summary: Its grin continued to stretch unnaturally across its face, stitches clawing at stuffing at the very movement. It had been created without a heart. It had been created without love. If it had been given a heart in the first place, would it feel satisfied as it did now? Would it have felt peace as it did now?


edited on 7-22-15

 ** _Cornwallace and a rereading of previous works have inspired an additional part to this abomination :3_**

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 ** _Dead Heart_**

It ended with blood. It ended with the cold substance, the rusty smell, and the taste of copper. It corroded the senses, burned the nose, and watered the eyes. Crimson saliva ran its way through golden fur, tainting it brown. Furry flesh was broken and torn, ragged beyond repair.

"Sto-plea-st _oooo_ p." A young, boyish voice whimpered in the darkness of the house.

The youthful fox struggled, bloodied claws scratching at his opponent, but all his claws were dull and his body weak. His fingers merely clung to the rough material, trembling eyes of blue squinting with such concentration, such determination. Yet when he felt the sharp jaws of his attacker dig into the wound at his shoulder did his eyes widen, did he cry out, but his voice only cracked and collapsed into that of a whimper.

 _"Do you feel it now?"_ The voice sung in his thoughts, pushing away at his conscious. The very presence made him shiver for the voice sounded like his own, but the difference… the voice sounded dead. _"Do you feel it?"_ It questioned again, repeating the very same question over and over. It sounded like a prayer now and the very phrase was driving the young fox to insanity.

Feel what exactly? The _pain_? The fear?

 _"Can you feel your heart beat?"_ The change in topic made the young fox tremble on the bloodied floor as metallic claws brushed against his furry chest. _"What does it feel like… to have a heart?"_ This time, the voice that forced his thoughts at bay became a voice whispering in his ear. _"What does it feel like to be alive?"_ The metallic digits dug into his flesh, ripping it open with a mere flick of the wrist. In response, the fox continued the futile attempt at lashing out, but his dull claws did nothing when it came to the cutting open the rough material of the toy. Instead the back of his head met the cold, linoleum floor as he arched away as best he could from the toy.

Yes, a _toy_ was doing this to him. A toy had pinned him down and rendered him useless and nearly immobile what with his own blood creating a pool at his back. A toy was digging into his chest with _metal_ fingers, the ten individual daggers ripping tendons, bones, and vessels.

It was supposed to be just a harmless toy in a harmless package. A present… even if the stuffed toy's glowing, crimson eyes and eerie resemblance to himself was indeed creepy… it was a present. Then again, perhaps it wasn't. He had assumed it was from his childhood friend—the blue hedgehog, Sonic. Perhaps it wasn't… perhaps…

His thoughts were cut short as he felt a _tug_ at his heart. A literally tug, not one from loss or heartbreak or any of that nonsense, but one that made his body shudder and his vision blur. His blue eyes widened as far as his facial features allowed as he stared up into an endless abyss of red—those eyes. All the while the stuffed toy stared right back down, that stitched on smile seeming to grow wider and longer despite the fact that it was made of restricting material. The stiches even split to show off those bloody, sharp teeth that had broken his left shoulder. Blood nearly gushing out between each individual shark-like tooth.

 _"What does it feel like to be alive?"_ The voice continued to whisper in his ear, the toy's mouth unmoving. Again that tug at his heart. It was as if someone was pulling at it, strangling the very organ, but right as he felt it did it disappear. _"What does it feel like…"_ it lowered its head so that it was a mere inch away from the fox's face, _"to be loved?"_ That tug became something else entirely. His voice forced itself out of him, his scream reaching an unbelievable octave as he felt his very heart be ripped out of his chest. The toy withdrew the organ with ease, ripping more of the body in the process, and held it up beneath glowing eyes. Beneath him, the fox flailed about and continued to scream his head off, that is until his mouth flooded over with blood and his brain collapsed.

 _"So this is what a heart feels like…"_ the toy mused. Its fluids oozed on the toy's soft material, its presence adding an additional stain to the already tarnished, faux fur. Soulless eyes of crimson continued to stare at the lifeless heart until its sticky moisture became dry. Only when the heart shriveled up and the warmth subsided, replacing its ripped gloves with cold did it finally rest its absent eyes on its victim.

Its grin continued to stretch unnaturally across its face, stitches clawing at stuffing at the very movement. It had been created without a heart. It had been created without love. If it had been given a heart in the first place, would it feel satisfied as it did now? Would it have felt peace as it did now?

What of the solitude? It hated loneliness. It hated rejection. Just because it had been created to have a natural fascination with death and blood did not mean that it didn't necessarily have thought, emotion, or goals. Then again perhaps it was just a bit of remorse that was tainting its programming? It had just murdered a youthful fox after all.

 _The fox..._ Its eyes seemed to take on a brighter hue of red as it continued to look over the scene of ripped flesh and clumped fur.

What if it...

The toy looked to the heart and then back to the fox, curiosity leaking into its maniacal mind. It fell to its knees, both hands clutching the dead organ, and sided the corpse. Gingerly it replaced the heart, a paw digging into mushy, slick guts and plucked a strand from its right leg's already broken seam. Using its metallic claws, it stitched the flesh closed with unexpected grace. After all, it was a toy... one that became unraveled at times.

When its claws stitched to the wound's end did it cut the thread and lean back to look at its handiwork. Satisfaction-the feeling was warm, it made its face feel tingly. Yet when it sat back and waited... waited... waited... _nothing happened_.

Why? Had it not replaced the heart it had stolen? Had it not stitched up the wound? Was it not showing an act of kindness?

 _"Wake up."_

Nothing but silence.

 _"Wake up!"_ It lunged at the corpse, claws digging into the shoulders of the dead. It shook the body furiously, screaming that very line, demanding that the dead soul return. It just wanted to know what a heart felt like, wanted to feel emotion, wanted to feel _something_ other than the twisted desire to bring turmoil down upon unfortunate souls. It just wanted to know if a heart could make the loneliness go away.

It ended with blood. It ended with the cold substance, the rusty smell, and the taste of copper. It corroded the senses, burned the nose, and watered the eyes. Crimson saliva ran its way through golden fur, tainting it brown. Furry flesh was broken and torn, ragged beyond repair.

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 **Tell me what'cha think, what'cha hate, what kind of ice cream you like, and if I should still work on this little, bitty thingy.**

 **(I don't feel like I did a damn well job at description but I may brush this up a wee bit later ;P)**


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